“Are you happy traveling this road?” the old man asked surprisingly.
He has thinning white hair; his face is a mass of wrinkles and he moves like everything hurts, but I have seen him in action and he is a poet with any firearm.
“What road?” I asked him.
“The Gun-Guy road, this thing you are thinking about, even if you don’t know it. I suspect it’s the only thing you ever think about.”
I turned from the bench and put the screwdriver down. “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked. “I am trying to get a scope mounted, not marry this rifle. You lost me.”
“You ain’t rich and you’re not ever going to be, unless you win the lottery,” he said. “Most people aren’t, and it’s not what makes a good life anyway. I know you are gun crazy; I have known it for years. I pay you what you are worth, or maybe a bit less, but it is all I can afford. Where did the money go? I know you didn’t waste it on wine, women and song.”
I started getting a little irate at him. “I have bills. My truck, rent, food, gas—all that stuff, just like anybody else.”
“Not that money. Everybody has bills. I am talking about the rest of it. I am hoping that you have listened to me and put some in the bank, but everybody has money they use for what they want. Some go to Vegas, some take a cruise, others buy motorcycles or boats. What did you do?”
I had to stop and think. I spent some money recently on reloading tools. Some went for a handgun-training class. I paid entry fees for some competitions and I had bought a lot of ammo, although I never seem to have any left. Mostly though, I just always want another gun. I work extra hours and save until I can afford that one and then another starts burning in my belly.
“Are you saying guns and shooting are wasting money?” I asked, a bit meaner than I intended. “Because . . .”
“No, I’m not saying any such thing, you moron. Vegas is a waste of money. Lord knows I know that for a fact. So are cruises, but they keep the missus happy. That, I can assure you, is a life skill you damn well better master. Still, I fear that you are missing the point. You are letting that temper you have cloud what you hear. I am not saying that guns or shooting are the wrong thing to do. I can see that they dominate your life. You’re lucky so far that you have found a way to earn a living doing what you love. Still, you could make a lot more money doing something else. Is shooting really what you want to be largest in your life?”
“Hell no,” I snapped. “I got a wife, a kid and another on the way. They are what’s important.”
“Damn boy, we all got wives and kids. Some of us even manage to hang on to them. Of course, we love them and take care of our families. You are still missing my point. There is what we do, there is who we love and then there is what we are. That’s what I am talking about here. Outside of those mandatory things, what do you want most in this short life God gave us? You can be a home-bound family man. Ain’t nothing wrong with that, even if it does make you dull. You can stay home, mow the lawn, watch the games and vote Democrat. Or you can become a drunk, a womanizer or a gambler. If you choose any of those last three, you and me are done, but I guess you know that. Or, you can pursue your passion in life. That doesn’t exclude your family. If you truly love something, you will include your people in what you do. But that passion is what defines you, makes you who you are and drives your life. It is what decides at the end if you are happy with how you lived it.”
“You mean am I going to sell out for more money again and going to be just another gun owner with no time to shoot, or am I going to stay with doing what I love? Have I forgotten that life is a journey? Is that your question?”
“Well, well you ain’t as stupid as everybody says, yes, that’s what I am asking.”
“More money would be great. They say it can’t buy happiness, but it can buy more guns and that’s pretty much the same thing. The trouble is, to get more money I’ll have to spend every day of my life doing something I hate and wishing I had time to do what I am doing now. I tried that and I was miserable. Guns are what keeps me alive, not just literally, but figuratively. I don’t intend to quit them just because I can make more money while hating my life. But, who knows? Maybe I can get a bit richer doing this too, or maybe not, it’s not really the important question. I guess what I am saying is that I am and will always be a Gun Guy. I am going to stick with this.”
“Good choice,” the old man whispered as he turned and walked away.
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